Confessions on the 7:45(40)

We’ll get this managed. Don’t worry.

Maybe that’s what he said to all his clients. Because how could he know? Maybe he just thought he knew them, knew Graham. They’d formed a kind of friendship over the years, accepted each other. Selena, too, had come to enjoy Will’s wife—now ex. Bella had left Will for another woman. Poor guy. Selena still saw Bella in Saturday morning yoga sometimes. She had a svelte, strong body—so did her new girlfriend.

“Selena,” said her mother again, snapping her back. She couldn’t seem to keep her focus. “Are you listening?”

“No,” she said. “Sorry.”

Her mother, who suddenly seemed tired around her gray eyes, a bit washed out, repeated herself.

“See him through this if you must,” she said. “But don’t stay. It’s not worth it. He won’t stop. You always think it’s going to be the last time. But it’s only the last time when you leave him.”

Her stomach bottomed out, looking at the grim expression on Cora’s lined face. She saw there how bad, how ugly this could be. The cheating was bad enough, a life-rupturing event. But now a girl was missing. She and Graham were hiding things from the police. Something toxic had leaked into their life. Everything they were, everything she’d planned for them to be—it was all cast now in a bruised shade of gray.

She gathered her bag, walked into the living room to kiss the boys. Stephen ran off, oblivious, back to whatever game they were playing with Paulo. But Oliver clung when she kneeled down to him. If Stephen was Graham’s soul mate, then Oliver was hers. She took in his scent, felt his warmth.

“How long?” he whispered, his breath hot on her neck.

“Not long,” she said. “I promise.”

She didn’t say that she was thinking of coming back here tonight. She’d make that decision later. There was a room for her, too, in this warm, expansive house. Yes, she was lucky that there was a safe place for her and for her children. Not every woman in trouble could say that.

“I—” he started. But she cut him short before he could say—I don’t want to stay here. Or I want to go with you. Because she already felt bad enough.

“I’ll call you before bed.”

“Mom,” he said.

“Oliver, please, I’m late. I love you, sweetie. The sooner you let me go, the sooner I’ll be back, and all of this will be behind us, okay?”

He nodded, eyes down. “Okay.”

  In the car she pulled away, Oliver and her Mom waving at the window. When the house had disappeared from her rearview mirror, she let herself cry again. At the stoplight, her phone chimed and she dug it from her bag.

Maybe we should meet for a drink? I’m eager to continue our conversation.
Then another ping.

It’s Martha, by the way. From the train.


SEVENTEEN

Selena

The lights in their kitchen were dim. Will and Graham sat at the table—Will leaning back, jacket off, Graham with his head in his hands. For a second, she felt a twinge of compassion for her husband. But it passed quickly.

Selena stared at the corkboard that hung over the workspace tucked into the far corner of the room. It was a riot of the boys’ artwork, thank-you cards, photographs, coupons, sticky note reminders—all the detritus of their day-to-day.

Sitting in one of the tall chairs by the island, Selena kept her distance from the men. She had a bottle of cabernet open, was already on her second glass. They had spent three hours at the police station, each of them in separate rooms with the detectives. Her head was swimming, every nerve ending frayed. How did they get here? She kept waiting to wake up.

“The good news is that there’s not a whole lot of evidence that anything has actually happened to Geneva,” said Will easily. “And I didn’t get the sense that they considered either of you suspects in her disappearance. You are the employers, the people who saw her most often, the people who saw her last. In some ways, you knew her best.”

Graham nodded, still silent.

“So it makes sense that they’d want to talk to you both,” Will went on. “They’re just covering their bases for the moment.”

Will looked back and forth between them. He was fine-featured—high cheekbones, long aquiline nose. He sported a wild cloud of golden curls. His eyes—a kind of stormy gray-green—were like laser beams. He had a gift for reading faces, body language. When they were dating, he always knew when something was bothering her, when she was holding something back. He kept his eyes on her, and she looked down at her glass.

“What aren’t you guys telling me?” said Will finally, when neither of them said anything.

The wine, dark and fruity, was moving through her veins, creating warmth, easing the terrible tension that had crept into her neck, her shoulders.

“Graham was sleeping with her,” said Selena, causing Graham to look up quickly, as shocked as if she’d Tasered him. Will’s gaze settled on her husband, cool, unsurprised.

“Really.”

“I caught them on the nanny cam,” Selena said. She took another big swallow from her glass, poured a little more.

“Okay.” Will sat up from his easy slouch. “Where’s the video?”

“Deleted,” said Graham. “We deleted it from Selena’s computer and from the app.”